


Strip

by lamardeuse



Category: due South
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-22
Updated: 2010-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 02:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/81893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamardeuse/pseuds/lamardeuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm not too big on the Trapper Joe stuff, but romance I can definitely get behind."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strip

**Author's Note:**

> Written for due South Flashfiction on Livejournal (cliché challenge).

 

He didn't think he'd ever have to explain why he had it.

But then, he didn't think Fraser would ever be standing in his bathroom, looking for a way to get about two inches of foundation, blush and eyeshadow off of his face.

Frase was back in guy clothes now--jeans and a pure white undershirt--but the makeup wasn't so easy to get rid of. Ray knew; he'd gone undercover in punk bars in his younger days, though nobody ever asked him to try crossing the gender line. Even as a trannie hooker, no fuckin' way would he have gotten the kind of action Fraser did tonight. Not even guys who did guys in drag would've been desperate enough to pick up a skinny Polack in a sequined dress.

And the son of a bitch they collared tonight liked them pretty, yes, he did. Because the pretty ones had farther to fall into ugly when he cut their faces so bad their own mothers wouldn't recognize them.

He didn't usually go for the bigger, healthier ones, since he didn't want them likely to fight back, but the Lieu figured Fraser's looks might be enough of a magnet, and surprise, surprise, he was right. After three nights on the street, Fraser, Ray, Huey and Dewey collared the sleazeball. Herb Hoover, a sick, twisted fuck who thought any guy who dressed up like a girl had earned himself a one-way ticket to the hot place.

"I am the right hand of God!" he shouted, as Ray dragged him along the hall to the holding cell.

"Yeah," he shot back, "and I'm the left nut of Santa Claus. Shut the hell up."

Case closed. At least it would be as soon as Fraser got the makeup off. And he was itching to get it off, as if the stuff was burning into his skin. Now that Ray gave it some thought, Fraser'd been agitated since the arrest, even though the perp had only managed to flash the knife before he'd been in cuffs. Ray couldn't figure out why he was so jumpy. It wasn't like Fraser had objected to playing Miss Thang when this whole op had started, and it wasn't as if the takedown had been all that nasty, far as Ray could tell.

Fraser reached for the soap, the industrial-strength crap Ray bought cheap at Wal-Mart, started working up a lather between his hands. "Hold up, hold up," Ray said, right before Frase went for his face and started scrubbing. "I, ah, I got something better." He shooed the other man aside and opened up the drawer on the side of the vanity. Yeah, there it was, way at the back--"Here. Use this."

Fraser inspected the jar, then shot Ray a questioning look. Ray cleared his throat, looked away.

"Don't worry, Frase, I am not leading a double life." He gestured at the jar. "It's--it was--Stella's." Which in itself was pathetic, but it was slightly less strange than him using it on himself.

Wasn't it?

"Ah," said Fraser. "Of course." He unscrewed the lid and scooped up some of the cold cream on his fingers, then started dabbing it onto his face, until he looked like some kind of weird, shiny Ken doll.

How could Ray begin to explain why he still had a jar of Stella's cold cream, why he'd snuck it out of their apartment with the rest of his stuff when he moved out? How could he begin to explain how watching her take off her paint at night became a ritual to him, a ritual he missed like crazy when he left? Maybe because her parents hadn't let her wear makeup until senior year, and so when she was done, she looked more like the Stella he remembered. Maybe because when she took off that mask, when the layers of lawyer and professional and career woman got stripped away, he could pretend she only belonged to him again. Who knew? All he knew was that in two years, he hadn't been able to throw away the fucking jar.

Ray's head snapped up at the sound of the running water, and he dragged himself out of the Stella Pit. "No, no, you gotta wipe it," Ray said, shutting off the taps and reaching for the box of Kleenex on top of the toilet tank. "Here, I'll just--" He yanked out a handful of tissues, then raised it to Fraser's face and started wiping carefully. Huge gobs of peach-coloured goop came off ; the tissues snagged on some of his stubble, and Ray threw it into the can, then grabbed some more.

It took a minute for him to figure out that his face was about six inches from Fraser's, and his other hand was gripping the back of his neck. He darted a glance at Fraser's eyes, intending to offer some kind of apology for making it seem like Fraser was too useless to do this himself.

That was when he saw the tears welling in Fraser's stormy blues.

"Hey," Ray murmured, fingers tightening on his neck. "What's going on? Mascara botherin' you?"

Fraser took a breath, then nodded. "You could say that."

Ray went for his forehead next, wiping it clean and dry. "The case got to you," he said. That was a fact; it was the why that he didn't know, and wouldn't ask. Fraser should get the choice of whether or not to tell him.

"I, ah," Fraser said, licking his lips nervously, "it's only that--Hoover reminded me--of my grandmother." And then he clammed up.

Oh-kay. "I'm gonna need a rewind on that. He did this because--?" Ray prompted.

Fraser shook his head, and his face tightened. "It's not important."

Ray speared him with a look. "It's important, but if you don't want to tell me, that's okay."

Fraser set his jaw, meeting Ray's challenge. "She had a similar view regarding--perversions."

Ray frowned at that. "Oh, yeah? How'd you find this out? I'd guess there aren't too many trannies up there in Tuktoywhatsis."

"She told me," Fraser said, and his voice was cold, colder than a glacier, "when she learned that her sixteen-year-old grandson had fallen in love with his best friend."

The cold was in Ray's blood now, cold because of all the things he knew Fraser wasn't telling him. But at the same time, his heart was hot, so hot he wondered why it didn't burn through his chest and flop onto the bathroom tile. He realized he was crushing a soggy Kleenex in his fist; he heaved it into the toilet and closed the lid. "Sit," he ordered, and Fraser stared at him for a sec, then sat. Ray squatted down, bringing them eye level again. "Are you telling me--"

"Yes," Fraser snapped. His eyes dropped to his hands where they sat folded in his lap. "I am just such a pervert."

"Don't call yourself that," Ray growled, and Fraser raised his head, startled. "Bastards like Hoover are the perverts. That's why they're behind bars. And if your old bat of a grandmother was still around, I'd throw her in jail, too, and if I couldn't I'd kick her in the--" He trailed off, shocked at his reaction.

Fraser's mouth twitched. "In the head?"

"Nah, she might be a bat, but she's still a lady." He winked. "Her, I'd kick in the ass."

Another twitch, and then Fraser's face seemed to crumple. "I apologize," he said, voice husky. "This isn't how I'd intended to--I mean, I hadn't intended--"

"To tell me the shocking news?" Ray said, trying to keep that lightness for as long as he could, trying to let Fraser know it was okay. "S'alright. It's not such a big deal--not to me, anyway." He felt Fraser's eyes on him, and had the sudden urge to poke at his eyebrow the way the Mountie did. "But that's a story for another time. For now, why don't you finish taking this junk off your face, then hit the shower? I'll call up Sandor and get him to send us two pizzas, one for us, one for the wolf, and you can tell me the whole romantic Inuit story." Before he could veto himself, he leaned forward and planted a brief, chaste kiss on Fraser's clean forehead. "'Cause I'm not too big on the Trapper Joe stuff, but romance I can definitely get behind."

When he pulled back, Fraser's face held so many questions he wanted to laugh out loud. _Soon, Mountie-man. Soon Yoda will answer all. _

"All right," Fraser said softly, and Ray nodded and stood up, knees cracking as he straightened. He left Fraser to finish stripping off the mask. Ray didn't need to watch, because he knew who he'd find when it was gone.  


**Author's Note:**

> First published August 2003.


End file.
